A Better Class of Thief
by ice illuser
Summary: This town deserved a better class of criminals with the Batman as the challenge, no matter what the general public believed. And she was going to give it to them. Catwoman loves a good challenge after all.


Disclaimer: Oh yes indeed, this is the brilliant mind that created the best film of all time, The Dark Knight…okay, I can't even keep a straight face anymore. Obviously, I'm not. To begin with, I'm not rich, and then I'm not that genius-like (although, I didn't like Rachael very much in the movie since I'm more of a Catwoman/Batman fan after all).

A/N: After obsessively watching my DVD of Dark Knight (not Blu-Ray since we don't own a Blu-Ray player unfortunately) I decided that I really wanted to write a fic for it, despite the fact that I've been an anime/manga fic authoress up until now. But we're going to try this anyway, and it's going to feature Catwoman since she's one of my favorite characters from the series. And thank you chris dee for your version of Catwoman in Cat Tales which I used in this fic.

--

The first thing she saw when she arrived in Gotham in a dingy yellow taxi cab was an equally dingy yellow school bus pulling out of the seemingly recently demolished wall of a building and easily slipping into the line of school buses filled with squealing children heading in the opposite direction. She peered intensely in confusion at the bus and thought that for a second she caught a glimpse of grotesquely smeared clown makeup like an image from a childhood nightmare, and then she couldn't pick it out of the line of identical buses anymore.

The old taxi cab driver snorted when he glanced in his rear view mirror to still see her staring intently down the line of buses. "Never seen anything like that before?" he asked sarcastically, shaking his head, "Don't worry, you'll see something like that again, the way things are going around here."

"What was that building?" she asked, green eyes still staring at the buses, now long gone.

"The Mob's bank," the taxi cab driver replied dismissively, waving his right hand around as if to ward off flies, "It doesn't pay to get nosy about them."

She considered the words, a Cheshire grin spreading across her face. "No," she finally said decisively, looking at the driver, "It wouldn't."

And it really wouldn't, she thought to herself as she settled herself as comfortably as she could in the battered taxi seat, because why steal from the Mob when there were so many easier targets in the end?

She had picked Gotham due to the high number of rich people in the city after all. It was true that a high number were related to the Mob in some way or another, but there were enough trust fund babies for her to work on. A rather surprising number considering the criminal environment, but perhaps they lived in their own dream world constructed from many green bills.

The fact that Arkham Asylum patients were still running loose in the city should have completely crossed Gotham off of the list of cities she wanted to move to, but after Paris and Milan she thought it would make a nice change. Plus, this was where she had been born, and the mysterious man they called _the Batman _would make a nice challenge hopefully.

The taxi cab stopped, and the driver looked up at the luxury apartment complex and nodded approvingly. "That'll be fifty dollars. Good choice by the way," he commented, "My nephew works there as a doorman, and he says it's a really nice place. And looking over the park as well. You have good taste, Ms…?"

She flashed him a smile as she hauled handed him the money along with a hefty tip, "Kyle. Selina Kyle. Pleasure to meet you."

--

Her original plan had been to set up base, prowl around for potential targets, and then hit them as quietly as possible, but circumstances only allowed for the first two steps of her plan.

Not that there weren't perks to living in Gotham now, even if infested by the Mob. On her third day in the city, a small calico cat followed her from the art gallery all the way back home, and looked at her expectantly. She couldn't resist a look like that, so self-confident and imperious, so she let the cat in, and there he stayed.

Once all her furniture had been moved in and arranged to her liking, she flipped through glossy pamphlets of all of Gotham's finest, most elite entertainment. The opera, the art museums, the orchestra, would all attract the richest citizens of Gotham, but the ballet seemed an appropriate first stop to make. Her father had met her mother at the ballet after all, and so she ordered a ticket for next week's performance.

But unfortunately, when she had arrived in front of the hall with her crimson coat wrapped tightly around herself, there was a newspaper clipping pinned to the poster announcing that the billionaire CEO Bruce Wayne had absconded with the entire Moscow Ballet to his yacht.

Wow. It seemed Gotham's richest had grown more indulgent while she had been away.

The dark haired woman next to her shook her head in what seemed to be part disgust and part resignation, "He's always doing things like that."

The blond man whose arm the dark haired woman was clutching sighed, "Those tickets were expensive too," he commented, looking at the tickets in his hand ruefully.

She didn't want the night to be a complete waste, so she turned to the couple and asked, "Can the tickets be exchanged for opera tickets or something like that?"

The dark haired lady considered the question, "That wouldn't be any problem if you were someone like Bruce," she mused out loud sarcastically, "but for us other lowly mortals…"

"Probably, don't you think?" the blonde man interjected, "They owe us a refund of some sort anyway."

The dark haired lady smiled and squeezed his arm affectionately, "You're Gotham's DA though, so why don't you use the same connections you used to get us a reservation at Bruce's restaurant?"

So, the people in front of her were Gotham's DA Harvey Dent and his assistant DA girlfriend Rachel Dawes. She scrutinized her future opponents carefully. Dent was quite handsome in a rugged sort of way, but she noted that his hands had the marks of someone who had gone through more than a few fights. Perhaps there was some truth in the report she had heard of him socking a mobster that had pointed a gun at him in court with one mean right hook. Dawes looked smart and self-confident, but unlike the cats she loved, she seemed to lack the claws to back it all up with.

Inwardly she shrugged. It wouldn't hurt to make nice for now. Who knew, they could end up leading her to richer and less connected to the law targets. She grinned charmingly and proffered out a black kid skin gloved hand to shake. "I just moved back into Gotham," she explained, introducing herself, "I'm Selina Kyle, and I believe you two are the White Knight of Gotham and his fair lady?"

Dent shook her hand firmly, smiling at the titles, "Well, some wouldn't call me that. They have a different name for me down at MCU anyway."

"Pfft, jealousy," she said dismissively, shaking Dawes' hand as well, "Do you two want to go somewhere warm to get out of this cold?"

They agreed, and the three of them managed to straggle over to a small homey restaurant that smelled predominately of butter and sugar. Considering the pastel-colored menu, she asked idly, "So I've been hearing about this Joker guy. Is he an Arkham patient that managed to evade capture?"

"It seems that way, but we have nearly no other information on him," Dent replied, gesturing for the waitress to come over and take their order, "On the other hand, as a new resident of our fair city, what do you think about the Batman?"

"Harvey," Dawes admonished, after ordering a fruit tart, "Didn't we already have a long discussion about this last week with Bruce and Natascha?"

"Well, I have one outsider's view, and now I want another," Den responded, ordering a chocolate cream pie through gestures at the menu, "So really, what do you think about him, Ms. Kyle?"

She ordered a crème brulee before responding carefully, "I think he sounds really interesting. You don't have many people running around in capes and masks and throwing around what sounds like pretty high tech and expensive weapons back in Europe anyway. I'm really curious about who the Batman really is though; who has the time and money and skills to run around the city all night beating up criminals? I would like to meet him sometime."

"You probably don't want to," Dawes commented quietly while looking down at her plate, "If he's around, something bad is happening wherever you are."

She rolled her eyes, wishing she could crack the whip she had always used as a weapon as a thief for emphasis, "I'm a big girl," she assured them half-jokingly, "I can take care of myself."

"Just don't get involved with the Mob here and you'll be fine," Dent advised as he dug into the rich, creamy chocolate pie that had been set in front of him.

She laughed, and picked the blueberries off of her crème brulee to eat first, "So besides the Mob, does anyone else around here run any fancy parties?" she asked, deciding that these two would work well enough to help her scout out the terrain, "I'm an art consultant, so generally I have to get clients from those types of things…"

Dawes laughed, "Have to tend to the whims of the trust fund brigade?" she asked sympathetically, munching on blood red strawberries, "I know how that feels. Actually, as it turns out, Bruce is having a fundraising party for Harvey next week. Why don't you come with us to that?"

Dent turned worriedly to Dawes, a chocolate smear at the corner of his mouth, "Are you sure he won't mind you inviting more people?"

Dawes neatly wiped the smudge on Dent's mouth with her napkin, "I'm Bruce's oldest friend," she pointed out, "Besides, you need to set up business in Gotham somehow, right Ms. Kyle?"

"That's right," she affirmed, smiling to herself, "Thanks, and you can call me Selina. So where's the party?"

--

"_See, this is how crazy Batman's made Gotham! If you want order in Gotham, Batman must take off his mask and turn himself in. Oh, and every day he doesn't, people will die, starting tonight. I'm a man of my word. HehehehahahaHAHAHAHA!"_

She considered the grainy video and the hideous clown shrieking with laughter and instinctively believed him. Was this really the right night to be out prowling for targets among the "trust fund brigade" as Dawes had called them?

The little cat that she had taken in, which she had decided to name Whiskers, batted at the T.V. that was still playing the Joker's video. She nodded to herself; that settled it. Why should she be scared out of business by some madman that liked to paint himself into a clown?

A party thrown by Bruce Wayne of all people would have to be packed with the sort of targets she adored: rich and generally empty-headed men and women with so many lovely and rare works of art and jewels that were just sitting in their mansions gathering dust. Probably they didn't even appreciate fully the value of the elegant statues or brilliant jewels that they just considered a part of their estate or just wrapped around their necks when there was a suitable occasion to show off. It was a chance that she couldn't afford to lose.

And she wasn't disappointed when she arrived at the party. She had initially thought that most of Gotham's wealthy were Mob based, but considering the numbers of brilliantly colored gowns and well-cut suits, that wasn't quite the case. After all, Mob lackeys were unlikely to arrive at a fundraising party for Gotham's new DA. It was like one of those parties back before her parents had died.

…bad thoughts to be thinking at this point. She had to focus. This could actually turn out quite well for her.

"Selina!"

She turned around to see Dawes hurrying over to her in a lovely shimmering dark dress. She smiled and waved, "Rachael! Thanks again for inviting me."

Dawes called over an elderly man who was deftly carrying a tray of champagne, "Alfred, this is Selina Kyle. She's an art consultant who just arrived in Gotham; you think you have a job for her?"

Alfred handed her a champagne glass and smiled kindly, "Perhaps. New in town, Ms. Kyle? How do you like Gotham?"

She smiled back, sipping the champagne delicately, "I lived here as a kid actually," she pointed out, "It's very different now though."

Alfred sighed, "That's true, miss. But things will hopefully get better soon."

Dawes smiled and was about to say something when the sound of helicopter blades thumping away drowned out her words. She watched as a handsome dark haired man got out, handed out what seemed to be three supermodels, and then strode out with one on each arm and one behind him towards the party.

Dawes' lipsticked mouth turned down and she snorted. "Well, that's Bruce for you," she said tiredly.

"That's Bruce Wayne?" she asked, carefully noting the man. He walked with a hint of a swagger and looked every inch the billionaire playboy he had been rumored to be. "...well, after going on a cruise with the entire Moscow Ballet it seems he had to scale himself back to three ladies."

Wayne called a slightly discomfited Dent and irritated Dawes over, and as he proceeded to give a spiel about "I believe in Harvey Dent," she looked the man over more closely. He looked like a fop (all those women). He really sounded like a fop ("When I heard Rachael was dating Harvey, I had only one thing to say: That guy from those godawful commercials? 'I believe in Harvey Dent?' Yeah, nice job Harvey.") But…there was something just slightly off about it. As if he was trying too hard.

And his hands. Those were an awful lot of calluses, a fairly impressive set of bruises, and she couldn't tell from where she was standing, but were those knife scars? From what she had heard, Wayne was the leering come-with-one/multiple-woman-and-leave-with-another-woman/set type not the gets-in-tons-of-fights-with-people-who-carry-knives-around type.

And then after the spiel, while walking over to the balcony, he gave a first grade slime ball leer towards her figure encased in a dark violet dress (and she knew all about slime ball leers after living in Paris and then Milan for so long), and she changed her mind. There was no way anyone was such a good actor.

Should she raid the slime ball's house, she wondered as she mingled with the party guests. There was bound to be some good stuff, and no security system was a real problem to her. But as far as she remembered hearing, he had accidentally burned his manor in the Palisades down last year while drunk and was now living in a penthouse. Was whatever he had in there really worth scaling up a skyscraper?

Her musings about the best way to get up a skyscraper in Gotham were abruptly interrupted by one loud _bang! _

"_Good_ evening, ladies and _gentlemen_," drawled out a sinisterly playful voice, as the Joker stepped firmly into the center of the room, rifle in hand, "We are tonight's entertainment! I only have one question. Where is Harvey Dent?"

She instinctively reached to her side where on her nighttime prowls she would have stashed her whip, but it wasn't on her now. Either ways, she wasn't sure how well it would hold up against this clown who was capering around. He looked rather agile, and his movements seemed erratic and unpredictable. Plus, this wasn't exactly the time to be advertising her criminally honed skills—

"Okay, stop," Rachael said, stepping out from the crowd and facing the Joker who was terrorizing an old man with a knife.

And Rachael Dawes was officially the most stupid person she'd ever met. So much for not standing out.

As the Joker switched to menacing Rachael with a knife and telling some twisted story about his scars, she began to step around the crowd, considering the rafters of the building. She was no heroine, but she did owe the lady the invitation to this party. In heels, a form-fitting dress, and without a whip there would be some difficulty in implementing her preferred fighting style which was more adapted for getting away with the loot in the first place—

"_Then you're going to love me,"_ growled out a dark serious voice as a black cowled and caped figure barreled straight into the Joker.

She felt a thrill pass through her with the sound of that voice. A wide smirk spread across her face, and she licked her red lips like a cat in anticipation of a bowl of sweet cream. Now, _here_ was the challenge she'd been hunting for while running across rooftops in the city of lights. That raw power. That barely suppressed rage. That intensity all centered on one goal.

Why, it was _delicious. _

And while she was plotting out how to handle future encounters with this _Batman_, the Joker threw Rachael out of a window and strode out while Batman flung himself after her. She considered following the psychopath for a second but that idea was quickly squelched and stomped on by her common sense.

She wasn't a heroine; she was a thief. She didn't go chasing after psychopaths to bring them to justice; she fought police off to get away with her loot. She wasn't determined to die in a blaze of glory; she wanted to live to see another day in reasonable luxury.

She looked around the terrified room and nodded to herself. She had already picked out a few targets before the Joker had ever arrived, and had even got a commission as an actual art consultant. There wasn't anything she could do that wouldn't ultimately get her killed (after seeing the Joker once she knew that), and so her work here was done.

It wasn't a complete loss; she had even seen the Batman for the first time, and yet…

She doubted things were going to get any better anytime soon.

--

"_So be it. Take the Batman into custody. I'm the Batman."_

She snorted, rubbing the neck of Whiskers who was purring happily. Dent the Batman? Like hell.

Sure, Dent had around the right physique for it, but that raw power? That rage? That intensity that had her practically salivating? She had sensed none of that around him. And somehow she felt that a man who was terrified of the trust fund babies wasn't the sort to be jumping off of rooftops every night.

She considered the image of Dent being taken into custody while still stroking Whiskers. Using himself as bait, hm? Brave, but frankly stupid. Of course the _real _Batman would swoop in to save him, but considering how the Joker was, would it be in time?

But while she was mildly concerned about Dent, she was more anxious for the Batman, which, when she thought about it some more, was also quite stupid. She had actually had a friendly conversation with Dent while she had only seen the Batman once. Also the Batman ran around beating up dangerous people everyday; he was bound to have some idea about how to capture the Joker without incurring too much bodily harm.

However, she had heard from the whispers on the streets that the while Batman may break bones viciously, he never killed anyone. One rule wasn't much, but the Joker had no rules.

She shook her head and stood up, dislodging Whiskers who gave out a yowl of protest. She made a note to herself to set out some tuna for him later in apology, but right now she didn't want anymore time to dwell on the caped crusader. To distract herself, she drew out the black clothes she had always used for her thefts. They had worked well in the past, helping her blend into the shadows more than once. But…she had to wonder if she shouldn't get something more…how to put it…eye catching? Because it didn't feel quite right in this city, with the Batman of all people, to sneak around unnoticed.

Sure she'd probably end up sacrificing some of her thefts in exchange for a more distinctive costume, but it had never been about the money in the first place. It was about the thrill in a way. But it was more than that; it was…it was about living. It was about being who she was. It was about freedom and her own choice to surround herself with luxuries.

So she needed to get a better costume. But where to get something like that?

She sighed as she replaced the black clothing underneath her bed and returned to the kitchen to get Whiskers some tuna. She wouldn't go on a real prowl until that was settled; it wouldn't be polite to the Batman now, would it?

--

"_I'm Mike Engel for Gotham Tonight. What does it take to make you people join in? You failed to kill the lawyer. I've got to get you off the bench... And into the game. Come nightfall, this city is mine....and anyone left here plays by my rules. If you don't want to be in the game... get out now. But the bridge and tunnel crowd are sure in for a surprise. HahahaHAHAHAHA!"_

There wasn't a day that went by without some sort of Joker incident, she mused to herself. So…what to do?

She didn't want to run like a dog with its tail between its legs, god no. Besides, the Joker had probably rigged all the ways out of Gotham to explode or something like that. Actually, it'd have to be something more creative than that, given the Joker's creepy mind-fucking, psychological tendencies.

Look what happened to Dent and Dawes. One dead. One blown halfway to hell from what she had gleaned. And all because the Joker had made the Batman and the police decide which one to attempt to save.

It was strange that it had only been a week ago that they had been laughing with her in that cozy little restaurant. So happy back then…but she couldn't concentrate on that, she still had to decide what to do.

On the other hand, staying in Gotham didn't sound safe either. But she knew this was a dangerous city when she decided to move back here, didn't she?

She sighed as she filled Whisker's bowl with water. She had been planning to go looking for a costume shop or a tailor tonight, but it didn't seem a good idea now. Businesses were probably closing doors right now and then for good measure nailing them shut with boards. Not that it would help.

The Joker kept on screwing up her plans.

So again, what to do?

…it wouldn't hurt to go out on a reconnaisance despite the situation. She could assess the terrain and keep her skills from getting rusty. And if she happened to run into _the Batman _of all people (but she doubted it; he'd be too busy trying to catch the Joker to care about a shadow slinking across the rooftops) then that was a plus. On the other hand if she had the misfortune of running into the Joker…well, she did have a whip. Claws were beginning to sound like a sound investment however. Something sharp and pointy to distract the clown with anyway.

She grinned and pulled out the old black outfit from under her bed. A new costume would have to wait for now. A reconnaissance hardly counted as a prowl anyway.

--

There had been quite a few explosions tonight, she noted to herself, easily clambering up an old derelict building. Mostly centered Downtown, but none at the ferries. A bit surprising to her, considering the gossip she had heard from the streets, but probably not half as surprising as it was to the Joker.

She had also heard that the Batman had managed to capture the Joker but—

"You thought we could be decent men in an indecent time. But you were wrong. The world is cruel, and the only morality in a cruel world is chance. Unbiased. Unprejudiced. Fair."

That was…Dent's voice? But wasn't he supposed to be in the hospital doped up on painkillers as they fixed his face? She crawled cautiously across the roof and peered over the side into a parking garage. It was dark so it was hard to tell, but that did look kind of like Dent's dirty blonde hair and…

And much more horrifying than his burned up right side of his face was the way he was pointing his gun (a .22 mini-revolver it seemed) at what looked like Police Commissioner Gordon (the mustache and glasses certainly looked like him) and a woman and two kids cowering and sobbing in front of him.

Gordon's family.

She rubbed her eyes quickly in confusion. Ah, she had been staying up way too late these nights and the fumes in this neighborhood couldn't be good for her if she was now seeing _Harvey Dent_, the goddamn _White Knight_ threatening poor innocent cops just out to do their job the best they could with what they got. Next thing you knew she'd be seeing men running around in lime green jumpsuits or something.

She glanced down again. Nothing had changed.

"Tell your son it's going to be okay, Gordon," Dent said to Gordon as he grabbed of the boys and pointed the gun to his head, "Lie, like I lied."

She sighed to herself, glancing around to get an idea of the situation. Okay, the basics of a hostage situation like this were to make sure the hostage didn't get hurt which meant not freaking out the hostage taker too badly. Climbing down without being noticed wasn't a problem, but getting rid of the gun could be. However, if she could just angle her whip just right—

A flutter of black swept passed her and landed soundlessly on the ground.

"You don't want to hurt the boy, Harvey," a harsh voice rasped out.

_The Batman. _It shouldn't have really been a surprise, but it was. But at the very least, he could handle this screwed up situation, couldn't he? But Dent wasn't letting go.

"It's not about what I want; it's about what's fair!" Dent barked out harshly.

"He wanted to prove that even someone as good as you could fall," the Batman rasped to Dent.

"And he was right," Dent replied bitterly, still firmly gripping the gun to the temple of the boy.

So…partially the Joker's fault. But he still was the one pointing a gun at a poor kid. And no matter how much the Batman was trying to convince Dent to give it up, she could tell a hopeless case when she saw one.

This wasn't Dent anymore. This was…what was that nickname? Ah yes, Two-face really did seem to be fitting now. And he was out for vengeance no matter the cost or for that matter the logic behind it. So she had to figure out—

_Bang!_

She bit back a gasp as the Batman lurched down and didn't get back up again. Calm down, she told herself as she shakily but still silently began to climb down the building, he's _the Batman_, he's probably just…just tricking him, right? Right? He couldn't be…

And then he was up and knocking Dent over the side of the garage just as he flipped the coin to determine the fate of the kid. She started to scramble down the side of her building even faster and flipped neatly and silently onto a perch on the parking garage. She looked down as Gordon hurried and verified that the Batman was alive and realized that Two-face wasn't.

The Batman considered the deaths that Two-face had already caused and said slowly and painfully, "You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain. I can do those things because I'm not a hero, like Dent. I killed those people. That's what I can be."

"No, you can't! You're not!" Gordon exclaimed desperately and she urged him on silently. The Batman wasn't a murderer. She refused to let that become the new reality.

"I'm whatever Gotham needs me to be," the Batman replied softly, "Because sometimes the truth isn't good enough. Sometimes, people deserve more."

And then he took off into the night. She clenched her fist until she knew her knuckles underneath the gloves were bone white. Asshole. _Bastard. _Who gave him the right to change what had actually happened, to lie and put all the blame on himself, to be hunted and hated throughout the city?

What sort of opponent did that give her? She had wanted to clash against the Dark Knight of Gotham, the one in the city that everyone seemed to both revere and fear at the same time. But now, with this new twist, it would just look like a vicious, ruthless vigilante going against some thief.

That wouldn't do. This town deserved a better class of criminals with the Batman as the challenge, no matter what the general public believed. And she was going to give it to them.

And it would be an added bonus if she managed to restore the Batman's reputation. (The idea of him owing her sent a pleasant tingling sensation down her spine, and she almost wanted to purr.) She understood why they had done it, but give Gotham's people more credit. They had managed not to blow each other up in the Joker's messed up game, why couldn't they just accept that their precious white knight was human as well?

She slipped away, determined to start up all of her plans for real as fast as possible. (There would be a time to mourn the entire tragedy, but that wasn't now. You had to look forward, or else you'd drown in the past.)

--

She officially loved Kittlemeier. The little German costume-maker wasn't phased or even surprised at her request for a purple kid-leather catsuit complete with a cat mask of sorts. And now that she was trying on the catsuit and admiring herself in the mirror, she could say that along with being brilliant, the man was a genius.

She had found the place when while stealing a Chagall in a mansion, a man dressed in a lime green suit and bowler hat had also broken in. While talking, then tussling, and after a smoke bomb that didn't go off quite right, they met up at a coffee shop to discuss a criminal's life in Gotham. It turned out that the man was the Riddler also known as Edward Nygma, and he had suggested Kittlemeier's shop for a costume.

"So vat do you zink, Miss Selina?" Kittlemeier asked from outside the dressing room.

She drew back the red cloth curtain and beamed at the small bespectled man who was staring at her expectantly, "It's wonderful Mr. Kittlemeier! It's…it's delicious! It's _meow!_"

Kittlemeier smiled back at her, "I'm very happy zat you like it so much. Ze claws right now are just simple zings, come back in a veek and ve'll have zem much better."

She smirked as she wiggled the sharp pointy metal claws attached to the purple gloves. She couldn't wait to see how well they worked as lock picks. And what about when the Batman saw her?

Her smile slipped a bit. The Batman had been formally declared a murderer, the Bat-signal had been smashed to shards, and Dent's funeral was a solemn tearful affair with everyone saying how _nice _the man was and how they were supposed to catch the _awful Batman_ without him.

It made her sick.

But there were some good things. She had picked up a new kitten which she had decided to name Nutmeg. She had a new, if perhaps slightly insane friend in the Riddler. And she was going on the prowl tonight for the first time as _Catwoman. _

--

There was a new art gallery that had just opened in Gotham that had a security system that was supposed to make it _impossible_ for any thief to get in.

Which meant of course that she had to make that her first theft as Catwoman.

Getting in was actually a yawn. You'd think that a security system that was supposed to keep out all thieves would stand up to a few claws, but it easily succumbed. The hard choice was now what to take.

The gouache looked nice, she finally decided, as she looked around for a convenient exit. The windows would work, and then she could go on the prowl on the rooftops for more targets.

But as she was about to climb out of the window, she stopped and slowly turned around. The shadows in the corner suddenly looked _deeper _than it should.

And then the Batman stepped out.

"I don't think that's the exit," he ground out.

She felt a shiver pass down her entire body as she swung around and gave her most charming smile, "Batman, I presume?"

"Breaking and entering is a crime in this city," he continued to growl out, as if he hadn't heard her question (which was rhetorical, but still it was the principle of the thing).

She decided to see how much emotion she could elicit out of him, "You're a bit of a tightass, aren't you. Funny none of the tall tales about you mentioned that."

He paused as though he was surprised. She grinned to herself and continued, practically purring, "Is this it? Do you fly or anything or just… _grunt_ and _snarl_."

He grabbed her by the wrist, "What I do is stop people like you," he paused, taking in her purple costume, "Whatever you are."

She hissed, and lashed out with her claws, catching his cheek. She stood at the edge of the windowsill, idly examining the drop of blood on one of her claws, "What I am is Catwoman," she stated.

The Batman stood up as well and said slowly, "Alright, _Catwoman_… we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

She laughed to herself. This was way too easy. "Why Batman, how hard do you want it to get?" she asked mischievously, as she easily flipped out of the window, grabbed hold of the emergency stair, and climbed her way to the roof.

She looked behind her to see a black shadow pursuing her, but she laughed out loud and easily twisted away and lost him.

She liked her new life.

--

A/N: …wow this really was awfully long. I'm not sure how in character it was…but anyway, please review! (Some of my minor insanity in this piece can be attributed to listening to the RENT soundtrack on repeat. Ah well, it's Winter Break.) Hope you liked it. (Was the ending too cliché?) And sorry about some of the lines from the movie; I couldn't find all of it online.


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